


Beochickan

by LittleBitFurtherOn



Category: Beowulf - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Gen, Parody, beochickan, carrying a sword, he comes, he saves the day, i had so much fun writing this, i hope you find the same joy in it as they did, imagine a chicken covered in heavy armor, squawking sweetly swift on the sea, when i read this out loud in my english class one of my classmates cried they were laughing so hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBitFurtherOn/pseuds/LittleBitFurtherOn
Summary: It was then that he came, squawking sweetly swift on the sea,the feathered-hero, the beast-tamer, the seed-pecker.Hearing his raucous, regal, roaring cry, Hrothgar's men approachedwith wary hearts curious. Nay, they found not simply a chicken, butBeochickan. A chicken with a sword.
Beowulf parody in which everything is exactly the same except Hrothgar is vegan, Grendel is an Internet troll, and Beowulf is a armor-covered, sword-carrying chicken. Just roll with it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this as much as my classmates did.

Lo! Hrothgar, son of Healfdene,

brother of Heorogar, Halga, and Sigeneow,

a famed bread-winner, gold-finder, and victory-attainer,

and a great king to all of his people.

Hrothgar ruled in peace and happiness

and his people flourished for fifteen years before

the fad-follower built a vegan restaurant to live in and half of his thanes

 fled in horror. Creeping crossly close from the horizon,

a vicious demon of meat descended upon the eating-hall.

He huffed and he puffed and he rained bacon on the roof.

The giant troll demon was given name; Grendel

he was called. That meat-devourer's hobbies included

hot dog eating contests, pig-slaughtering,

and vegan-shaming on the Interwebs. Hrothgar’s land

descended into despair and waged for a week and three days

a ruthless battle, ceaseless and packed with evil and violence.

The grisly monster, the death-shadow, would not rest (except on Sundays,

as Grendel was devoutly religious), and the land

feared no reprieve from the meat-zealot's destruction.

It was then that he came, squawking sweetly swift on the sea,

 the feathered-hero, the beast-tamer, the seed-pecker.

 Hearing his raucous, regal, roaring cry, Hrothgar's men approached

with wary hearts curious. Nay, they found not simply a chicken, but

Beochickan. A chicken with a sword.

They picked him up, with his clucks shrilly shrieking

and his clipped wings wildly waving,

and transported him henceforth to Hrothgar.

Having inner knowledge of the bird-tongue,

the king-man decreed Beochickan's purpose in

their birth-land. The beak-bearer would rid their

beautiful kingdom of the deep, dark threat of death

that hovered over their every thought. No one

questioned the ability of the sword bearing chicken,

and they left the mead hall with high hearts

and light tongues. Despite their happy spirit,

they had left the white-wing's sword on a shelf

and he stared at it despondently deep into the dark

night. In stole Grendel, fearful of none, great

shadow-beast of the abyss, great clenching hands

grasping for grub in the form of armored man.

But Grendel was struck dumb with a mighty cluck

as Beochickan spread his talons wide on the earth.

The sorrow-bringer did not know how

to respond to this but he peered with great intensity

at his foe and leaned his great head down to the fluffy-hero,

squinting in surmisement before leaping back in pain.

The fierce blow-giver had stuck once, twice with his

sharp-mouth, crowing in triumph as Grendel toppled

backward clutching his bloody, streaming

eyes. Beochickan then began clucking insults

at the dusk-creeper in a viciously passive aggressive

 manner until Grendel bolted crying from the

vegan-establishment, calling piteously for his mommy

to place a plague on chickens.

The meat-demon vanished from the land;

the only reminder of his existence came a few days later

in the form of an angry letter from Grendel's mother,

whose prophetic prose predicted the demise

of all chickens from their kingdom to the next.

But that never happened because she lives under

a lake and she didn't feel like swimming up for

all that work. Joyous celebration resounded at

day-break as Hrothgar returned from his bed-rest

to find the feathered-victor pecking at some seed

on the battle-ground. The king lifted his friend

high into the air, Beochickan unhappily cooing as he spun,

and the land-defender spoke some incredibly

inspiring words, which were completely lost on the chicken,

whose vocabulary did not extend to English.

The wealth-hoarder heaped hoards of treasure

 onto a great wood-craft which floated upon

the waters. He hugged the hero close one last time

and placed the chicken atop the heap in fond farewell.

With a push, the shield-bearers sent Beochickan adrift,

clucking in an alarming fashion, and waved

until he vanished into the great, grand, grey

unknown. Hrothgar sniffed and tried his hardest

to quash the feeling of guilt from pushing a

chicken into the sea with no means of steering

his boat. But though years aged and passed,

and the world grew older and colder,

and the king and the hero never laid eyes

on one another again, Hrothgar heard tell

of a fierce feathered-hero brawling fire-breathers

in Denmark and he smiled, for he knew

all was well.


End file.
